


Messy Eater

by smokeopossum



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Food Kink, i mean sort of not really she cleans up a bit beforehand, these hands are only capable of creating filth, this is smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 03:25:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7918600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smokeopossum/pseuds/smokeopossum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s just so messy. So unnecessarily messy. So… Lena.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Messy Eater

**Author's Note:**

> don't look at me  
> this spawned from a conversation with one of my gfs about how some of the overwatch members might eat fun dip  
> i really don't remember why but it happened and now there's this so you're welcome i guess  
> it's an au or whatever look don't question it  
> translations on hover & at the end

Not for the first time, Widowmaker questions what she's doing here. 'Here' happens to be Overwatch Headquarters, specifically the mess hall this time, sitting next to Tracer, D.va, and Lucio as they eat some sort of horrid candy-powder snack. Wasn't Overwatch supposed to be filled with the best of the best? And _adults_ , more precisely? Not these... tall children with _guns_ and _candy_.

The musician seems to be the only one eating it properly, carefully dipping the candy stick into the powder with minimal mess. The child has foregone the stick entirely, immediately crunching it in her teeth and funneling the powder directly into her mouth.

And then there's Lena.

Her lip curls back in disgust as she watches her slobber on the candy stick and dunk it entirely in the powder, fingers and lips stained an unattractive blue-green. They're laughing, perhaps at something the child said; she's not listening, she doesn't care, she's busy staring as Tracer's tongue gives the candy another wet, messy swipe.

Something in her clenches at the sight and she realizes with dawning horror that it's arousal.

 _Merde_.

Tracer sucks the stick between her lips, shiny and wet and tinged that ridiculous color, entirely oblivious to the horrible storm brewing inside of Widowmaker. There's more laughter to tune out as she attempts to dissect this terrible attraction.

There's nothing inherently sexy about the way she's eating - Amélie would know, sex appeal comes to her as naturally as breathing - this is more like a child in arts and crafts. There's some on her _cheeks_. By all rights, she should be disgusted. Which she is. And yet…

Another tug in her belly as she watches her dig into the paper packet and slurp off the powder.

Emotions are horrible. Is this what people deal with all the time? Awful.

It's just so messy. So _unnecessarily_ messy. So… Lena.

"… Right, Amélie?" The girl in question turns to her, eyebrows waggling. She has no idea what she has been asked, no clue what the conversation even is right now. Her face is a careful, blank mask as she huffs and rolls her eyes in response, and apparently that's a good enough answer because the three of them are back to giggling and chatting once more, leaving her alone with her thoughts again.

Thoughts that veer into dangerous territory when she watches Tracer suck her index finger clean.

This is unfair. _She's_ the femme fatale. _She's_ the drop dead gorgeous assassin that oozes sex appeal. She should _not_ be getting flustered, and absolutely should not be getting flustered over… _This_.

Images come to mind unbidden - that stained mouth at her neck, sticky hands groping her chest, her thighs, peeling her underwear down. Those messy fingers pressing into her mouth, making her taste the sweetness of the candy while giggles echo in her ear. A blue-green smirk from between her legs, vibrant tongue slipping out to meet aching, wet flesh.

She stands abruptly, startling her table companions.

"Alright, love?" Tracer asks, brows coming together in concern. Widowmaker leans down, lips practically brushing against her ear to whisper.

"You will wash your hands. You will wash them twice more. And then you will meet me in your quarters. _Compris_?"

She doesn't give her a chance to answer, straightening up and walking out of the mess hall without even a backwards glance. As she leaves, she can hear the child say, "Your girlfriend is _weird_ , Tracer," and her faint response of, "Yeah… I know," as her chair screeches along the floor to follow.

 

* * *

 

She's not left waiting for long. The door of Tracer's room soundlessly shifts open to reveal the plucky Brit still looking concerned, meeting Amélie's eyes where she's sprawled on her bed.

She holds her hands up, wiggling the fingers. "Squeaky clean as requested! Something up, Amélie?"

"Lock the door," Widowmaker purrs, sitting up and peeling her sweater off, revealing a dangerously sexy black bra underneath. Lena's eyebrows jump to her hairline as she scrambles to seal the door behind her.

" _Oh_. Didn't know it was gonna be that kind of afternoon," she chuckles, chewing at her still colorfully stained lip. Amélie crooks a finger, beckoning her to the bed, and she's quick to head over. "What--" she begins, immediately interrupted by the hands pulling her close for a searing kiss.

The question dies on her tongue as she's pulled on top of Widowmaker, comfortably straddling the topless woman. A hand buries in her hair, pulling her closer, mouth opening to allow a bold tongue in to explore.

Amélie whimpers below her, and yeah, her technique is good, but it's not THAT good. Tracer pulls away, breathless already, and looks down at her in confusion.  
  
"Oi, what's gotten into you? Not that I'm complaining, just a bit out of the ordinary."

Widowmaker responds with a roll of her eyes and an attempt to pull her back down for more kissing, but Tracer holds her ground. She lets out a huff, sitting up, resigning herself to coming clean.

"You are sweet."

Lena gives her a big grin. "Aw, thanks, love. I just wanna know if everything's alright though, yeah?"  
  
Another eye roll. " _Mais non, ma petite étourdie_. You are _sweet_ ," she says again, slower this time, punctuated with a brief, chaste kiss to her tinged lips.

"Oh," Tracer says, stupidly. Her eyebrows pull together in confusion, barely registering how Widowmaker is beginning to tug her shirt off as she puzzles over her words. "Careful with the anchor," she murmurs absently, arms lifting up.

Widowmaker scowls, responding with a petulant, equally quiet, "I know," even as her hands slow down. The shirt is tossed to the side, joining her sweater in a heap, leaving Lena in just a sports bra. Two blue hands immediately cup her chest, squeezing and kneading the small mounds with a satisfied sigh.

"So sugar gets you hot?" It's an innocent enough question, but it results in a glare. "Just trying to understand! No teasin', promise," she clarifies, hands up in a surrender motion at the deadly look Widow gives her.

She sighs, color creeping into her face as her lips purse. "The way you eat is so… _sale. Tes mains crasseuses, ton visage dégoûtant. Bon dieu, touche moi_." She nuzzles into one of Tracer's open palms, taking the other and dragging it to her own chest.

Lena knows enough about French and context clues to oblige with an even bigger grin than before.

"You like when I make a mess," she says, not a question but a statement, leaning down to mouth and lick at her bared throat. It coaxes out another noise Amélie would deny making later.

"Were you thinkin' about my dirty little hands on your body, then?" She tugs her bra down, not even bothering to unhook it, and takes a greedy handful of her chest, gently pinching a nipple between her fingers. "Something like this, maybe?"

Widowmaker responds with a huff, but certainly not anything close to a 'no'. The way she squirms underneath her is answer enough.

The smile grows wider. "Thought you looked a bit peaky in the mess. Turns out you just wanted a bit of filthy shagging."

" _Tais-toi_ ," comes the sharp reply, a finger pressing against Tracer's shit-eating grin. It proves to be a horrible mistake for Widowmaker as she sucks it into her mouth, tongue swirling around the digit reminiscent of how she tended to her candy.

" _Ce n'est pas juste_ ," she mutters, more to herself than to Lena, who releases the finger with a wet pop, grin still firmly in place. "Love it when you speak French. Haven't got a bloody clue what you're saying but it sure sounds hot."

"How fortunate. If you are done teasing me, perhaps we can continue?"

"Reckon I can do both." Tracer's head lowers to nip at her throat, a hand working between them to undo Amélie's slacks even as she continues groping her chest. Widowmaker buries a hand in her messy locks, holding her close and helpfully lifting her hips as she tugs her pants down, letting out a quiet gasp as she cups her between the legs.

"Oh, love, you're _soaked_ ," Lena breathes against chilly skin, giving the wet lace another firm squeeze. Widowmaker arches into the touch, legs spreading for more. "You want my mouth here? Wanna see how much of a right messy eater I can be?"

" _Mon Dieu_ , _please_."

Tracer treasures the moments she can get Widowmaker to beg, cheeks flushed a pretty purple and golden eyes half-lidded as she looks up at her. She presses one last kiss to her swollen, glossy lips before shuffling down the bed, trailing open-mouthed kisses down her body until she's nosing between her legs.

The assassin is so turned on she's practically _warm_ , her scent rich and heady as Tracer breathes her in. Brightly painted nails dig into toned thighs, spreading her wider as she buries her face against the soaked underwear.

" _Please_ ," Widowmaker groans again, music to Tracer's ears even with the sharp tug to her hair for teasing.

"Patience, love," comes the smug murmur in response, lips pressing to the crease of her thigh. "Like to play with my food, y'know."

Despite her words, she hooks her fingers into the ruined panties and drags them down, letting out a low moan at the sight of Amélie bare before her, dripping and flushed, swollen clit screaming for attention. She doesn't warn her before eagerly diving in, hot mouth a shock to her system, a satisfied wail escaping her painted lips.

The hand in Tracer's hair tightens and tugs, pulling her face closer as Widowmaker grinds herself against her. Tracer is an absolute mess by now, everything from the nose down sticky and glistening, with the silence of the room only broken by her noisy slurps and a ceaseless, breathy stream of filthy French.

" _Oui, c'est ca, comme ca. Dégoûtante… mais si bonne. Oui, touche moi avec ta langue, c'est ça. Suce, oui, vas-Y!_ " Amélie pants, head tossing side to side, free hand fisting the sheets. Lena is all lips and tongue and teeth against her, moaning into her folds with every excited jerk of her hips. " _J'vais jouir fort sur ton beau visage si tu continue. N'arrête pas!_ "

Tracer doesn't understand, but she recognizes the tone and the way her voice tightens and only pulls her closer, squeezing and kneading at her thighs as she drinks down every drop of arousal. Widowmaker meets her eyes as her tongue swirls and batters her clit, and the faint smirk on Lena's face is enough to push her over the edge.

"Yes, yes, yes, oh, _Lena, yes!_ " Widowmaker cries out, shuddering and arching off the bed, nearly ripping Tracer's hair out with her orgasm. There's a resulting squeak of pain, but the slow, steady thump of her own pulse rushing through her ears is loud enough to drown it out. When she sags back down however, boneless and limp, she gives her scalp an apologetic pet.

Calm settles in the room as Widowmaker affectionately combs her fingers through the wild, tangled mess that is now Tracer's hair, enjoying the soft licks over her sensitive flesh as she's cleaned up. When she finally pulls away, licking her chops like a sated dog, Amélie sends down a fond smile and cups a sticky cheek. Lena nuzzles into it as Amélie did to her earlier, pressing a kiss to her palm.

"Wuzzat good?," she slurs, tongue now heavy in her mouth.

" _Très bon... Parfait_ ," Amélie responds, urging her back up her body, arms and legs clinging tight. They gently bump noses, Amélie's wrinkling at the wetness before she steals a kiss. Few would probably guess how cuddly and affectionate she could be after a good lay.

"Should get Fun Dip more often if you're gonna react like this every time," Tracer says as they briefly part.

"I do not think the rest of Overwatch would be appreciative of me stealing away one of their top agents for loud, messy sex so often."

"Hm, you've got a point. Special treat then." Tracer presses one last delighted kiss to her lips before sitting up, wiping off her face on a bare arm. Widowmaker presses a hand to her flat stomach, fingers creeping under the elastic of her sports bra, tracing the outline of her anchor.

"Do you need tending to, _chérie_? You've worked so hard for me."

"Think I need a shower, actually. Was probably gonna have a toss in there, but if you're offering... Care to join, love?"

" _Oui_."

**Author's Note:**

> hopefully you didn't use google translate because here are the translations from a Bona Fide French Speaker and google will say some weird shit. anyway i'm blushing
> 
> Merde - Shit  
> Compris? - Do you understand?  
> Mais non, ma petite étourdie. - No, my little airhead  
> ... sale. Tes mains crasseuses, ton visage dégoûtant. Bon dieu, touche moi. - ... messy. Your filthy hands, your sticky face. Good God, touch me.  
> Tais-toi - Shut up  
> Ce n'est pas juste - This is unfair  
> Mon Dieu - My God  
> Oui, c'est ca, comme ca. Dégoûtante… mais si bonne. Oui, touche moi avec ta langue, c'est ça. Suce, oui, vas-Y! - That's it, right there, just like that. Make a mess, darling. Oh, you're so good, let me feel your tongue. Suck, please, suck!  
> J'vais jouir fort sur ton beau visage si tu continue. N'arrête pas! - I'm going to come all over your cute face if you keep going. Don't stop!  
> Très bon… Parfait - Very good... Perfect.


End file.
